


Fur and Fang

by Lynnwood



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Adult Language, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Amicitia!Werewolves, Angst, Arranged Marriage, As In Vampires Werewolves and Fairies Oh My, Because Werewolves Be Potty-Mouths Yo, Blood Stuff (because vampires so of course blood stuff), Canon-Typical Violence, Crownsguard!Vampires, Enemies to Lovers to Sort-of-Friends, F/M, Fluff, Kingsglaive!Werewolves, Like Seriously All the Snark, Lucis!Vampires, M/M, Magic, Male/Female Pairings, Male/Male Pairings, Niflheim!Assholes, Smut, Tenebrae!Sylphs, lots of snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-04 19:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11562000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynnwood/pseuds/Lynnwood
Summary: The Fey races of Eos have been locked in a bloody stalemate of war with the prejudiced Niflheim Empire for generations, barely holding the humans in check in some cases and not even that, in others. King Regis has come up with a radical solution, however. He proposes the two kingdoms of Lucis and Tenebrae as well as the large Amicitia pack of werewolves put their own differences aside and enter into a lasting alliance, to stand up as one against their mutual enemy. In order to seal this agreement it's decided that the Princess of Tenebrae will wed with the Prince of Lucis, while the First Son of the Alpha is sworn into his service. While the three rulers are fairly satisfied with the agreement that's hashed out between them, others are not so magnanimous. Especially as Noctis, Luna and Gladiolus only learn of the arrangement long after it's already been decided.





	1. Prologue : Forging Alliances

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, it's the supernatural FF XV AU that nobody (but me) asked for! So yes, pay attention to that AU part. It means Alternate Universe. As in this fic might live in the same building as the canon, but they aren't on speaking terms let alone loaning a cup of sugar to each other from time to time. Therefore places, concepts and characters are mine to toy with—though I do try to keep the latter as close to the originals as possible. Hopefully there won't be too much OOC going on if I can avoid it.
> 
> A quick note to some of the biggest changes and brief explanations as to why; Ages of the characters have been altered here or there, some have been aged down (Luna) and some have aged up (the boys and Iris). Also in this fic, members of the Kingsglaive will be werewolves aligned with the Amicitia family rather than serving the country of Lucis. I wanted some recognizable characters for that faction and given that Gladio wears his hair like they do, I thought it would fit nicely. Besides, Lucis still has Cor and the Crownsguard after all. Honestly, what more do you need?
> 
> Other than that, this will be a mostly romance-driven fic with some plot sprinkled in liberally for flavor. Pay attention to the tags (which will probably be updated as I write this and discover new plot bunnies along the way). I don't tag every single detail or sexual position however (I'd like you to discover this stuff while you actually read it), but if anything trigger-worthy pops up I'll be sure to give the appropriate warnings. Now without further ado, read on and hopefully enjoy! Drop me a comment or a kudos if the mood strikes you, they're always appreciated.
> 
> EDIT - Sry for the weird spacing typos, still haven't figured out why that happens or how to fix them. >_<

Regis Lucis Caelum, 113th King in the Line of Lucis, accepted the hand of assistance held out to him as he alighted from the boat and onto the dock below. The slight jarring shock of the landing still nearly caused his weaker leg to give out from under him. The monarch paused for a brief moment to catch his footing, reaching down to grasp at the metal brace surrounding his right knee which extended from mid-thigh to shin. If the soldier beside him was impatient with the delay, he was far too disciplined to ever show it outwardly. Instead Cor Leonis stood still and silent while he waited for his king to recover. Meanwhile his silver eyes darted this way and that over the shadowy landscape that surrounded them, alert for any hint of danger.

They currently stood on the otherwise deserted shore of Angelgard, the moonless night adding a muted and almost sinister quality to the already eerie island. Yet their purpose here was one of the utmost importance—and secrecy—so the locale well suited their needs. Besides, the darkness was never a hindrance to their kind. Quite the opposite, it was rather like home.

Regis straightened at last with a sigh, helping to support himself with his straight black and gold cane as he began off the somewhat dilapidated dock. The monarch was dressed low-key at the moment—or at least compared to his normal attire of three-piece suits and royal regalia. Regis was currently wearing a thick black wool-knit turtleneck sweater folded over a pair of charcoal slacks. Cor as well had shed his usual Crownsguard trappings, instead opting for a plain silver and black t-shirt beneath a lightweight black jacket—the sleeves pushed up past his elbows—and a pair of close-fitting black jeans. They had done their best to remain inconspicuous and blend in as much as possible on their journey. Few knew that the King had even left the Citadel and no one could know of their true purpose for being out here, not until things were properly settled. The risk of everything being sabotaged was just too great.

With this in mind Regis led the way to their destination, Cor one step behind and slightly to the left of him in deference but near enough at hand to leap forward and catch the weakened monarch should he falter on the wet rock and sand. When they reached the ancient stone ruins, the Marshal of the Crownsguard motioned for Regis to wait outside before he disappeared within. Off to make certain it was secure, no doubt, and the king allowed it without comment. Just leaned a little more heavily on his cane and tried to catch his breath. It took only a moment before the other man was reappearing from the inky blackness within.

“All clear, your Majesty,” Cor murmured softly. “Looks as though we're the first to arrive.” Which wasn't entirely surprising given the fact that they had the shortest distance to travel out of all those who'd been invited.

Regis nodded, stepping forward in his slightly halted gait. “Very well then, let us prepare for our guests. They should be arriving before long.”

Moments later Regis had been settled inside a large stone room—what looked to have been some sort of dungeon cell once upon a time—seated on a massive square-shaped hunk of granite that had probably served as part of the now crumbling walls. The large hole to his left revealed the night air beyond and the restless sea below. Cor quickly set out a few battery-fueled lanterns, filling the room with a soft white glow in deference to those who weren't blessed with as keen a night vision as they. Two more sizable chunks of rubble were rearranged to serve as more seats, all equidistant and diagonal from each other. Then a make-shift table was laid out in the center, on which Cor quickly set out a detailed map, a small sheaf of documents and several pens. He was nothing if not efficient, to a fault. When the soldier would have straightened each ink pen to line up completely perpendicular to each other, Regis finally lifted a hand, smirking.

“That's enough fussing my friend, if you please.” The smile wasn't returned but Regis had known the man long enough that he wasn't offended by the lack. Cor merely stepped back and clasped his fists in the small of his back, coming to stand with his feet braced slightly apart and at watchful attention instead. Regis didn't bother telling the Marshal to relax, knowing it would be pointless. He sighed instead, braced both fists on the cane he had balanced between his bent knees and then settled in to wait.

As it turned out, he wouldn't have to wait for very long.

A little distracted by his own thoughts and listening to the lulling sound of crashing waves outside, Regis didn't realize at first that he and Cor were suddenly no longer alone. Of course the soldier was an entirely different story, going all at once from eerie stillness to fluid motion. He immediately moved forward and put himself in between the entrance and his King, one hand holding the sheath of the massive katana strapped to his side and the other gripping the hilt. All an instant before two large figures ducked inside.

One was notably younger, perhaps in his early thirties, dressed in a pair of black leather pants, a dark blue sleeveless tank-top decorated in the image of a snarling coeurl and a pair of heavy black boots on his feet. His dark hair was shaved close to his head on both sides but allowed longer up top to sweep back and down past his shoulders in a mohawk of sorts. The other man also wore leather pants and heavy boots, but had on a dark brown jacket with a plain white t-shirt beneath it. His nearly completely shaved hair was white with age but his ice-blue eyes were as sharp as daggers, missing nothing. Both had several days' worth of stubble shadowing their faces, likely with little time or care to shave.

As soon as they noted Cor's threatening stance, the younger of the two stepped in front of the other in a protective gesture of his own, crouching slightly in preparation to strike. The hands held out from his sides suddenly shifted, growing larger and more bestial, deadly black claws sprouting in place of fingernails. The man's hooded blue eyes morphed into something altogether more feral, lips curling back in a growling snarl to reveal sharpened upper and lower fangs that gleamed in the soft light of the lantern. Cor's katana snapped upward with a deadly effortless flick of his thumb in response, his own lips twisted into a curling sneer to reveal two long fangs. A low, threatening hiss released from the Marshal and Regis didn't need to see his face to know the soldier's silver eyes were now glowing with red hellfire.

A vampire on one side, werewolf on another. Centuries of animosity and ingrained rivalry bloomed to life between the two Fey creatures in an instant, the tension thick enough to choke on.

“Marshal!” Regis barked however, before things could escalate any further and ruin their venture before they'd even begun. “Stand down,” he ordered sternly.

Across the room, the older of the newcomers also reached out to silently grip the younger one's shoulder. He said nothing, but then there was no real need. That hold seemed to convey all that was required—comforting and yet filled with dangerous warning all at once. The younger immediately backed down, his fangs and claws receding once more in mere moments. Cor slowly—as if reluctant—straightened out of his battle-ready crouch, re-sheathing those few inches of katana blade with a soft metallic click. Regis focused on his guest as the man stepped around his fellow and moved toward one of the provided seats, giving the king a slight nod of deference along the way.

“Regis,” he rumbled by way of greeting. Cor stiffened a little at the overly familiar tone and address, his eyes narrowed, but he didn't risk censure by voicing his displeasure. Merely stepped back to stand behind and to the left of his king, a silent sentinel. The younger man did the same with his own leader.

Regis just nodded, not at all perturbed or offended, a slight smile forming as he returned, “Clarus.” The Lucian King motioned to the man at his back with a flick of his fingers. “I believe you know my companion, Cor Leonis, Commander of the Crownsguard.” The younger man was instantly on the alert again at the sound of that name, eyes widening a little. Clarus Amicitia didn't even blink, just nodded.

“Cor the Immortal,” he identified in affirmative. Then he indicated the younger man behind him with a slight jerk of his chin. “Nyx Ulric.” Regis nodded politely to the young werewolf, who managed to pull his wary stare from Cor long enough to return the gesture.

“I'm surprised you didn't bring Drautos along,” he continued as off-handed as he could, gaze returning to Clarus. Those pale blue orbs gave nothing away as the Alpha werewolf rolled one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.

“At the moment Titus serves me best with the rest of the pack.” Regis heard what the man didn't say in that deceptively bland, simple statement. Clarus didn't _need_ his equally infamous Beta here to protect him; should trouble arise, he was more than capable of dealing with it himself. There was a breath or two of silence, then, “you're looking well, Regis.”

The Lucian king's lips curled into a bitter smile. “A terrible lie, Clarus, but I thank you for the kind intent.”

Another pause and then, “just what is it exactly that ails you? I've never heard of a vampire being laid low by illness. Normally you lot heal even faster than we do.”

“They are rare,” Regis agreed, ignoring the way Cor tensed up behind him again, no doubt uncomfortable with revealing such weakness in such mixed company, “but not unheard of, sadly. It is part of the reason I arranged this council now.” He met the werewolf's unflinching stare with stark honesty, his voice almost trembling with it. “It will not be long before this sickness claims me. And if it is the last thing I ever manage to do in this life, I will not leave the world less than when I entered it. If I accomplish nothing else in my legacy as King, then this will have been enough.”

While the Amicitia Alpha wasn't as obvious as Nyx—who blinked at him with an open look of shock—those ice colored eyes perhaps softened just a fraction with what might have been respect.

“Ah, a picnic by moonlight,” a new voice suddenly purred before the werewolf could respond however, causing them all to turn back to the entrance. For one moment there was nothing, and then in the next a tall figure seemed to materialize out of thin air. While a little shocking, it was not entirely unexpected either. Preternatural speed was just one of the many gifts belonging to the sylph race, after all.

The newest was also the youngest among them, in his late twenties at best. He was very tall, narrow-hipped but boasting a surprisingly broad set of shoulders for his naturally thin and willowy race. He was dressed in a long white, high collared coat that fell to the heels of his boots, tooled in silver and pale lavender. His shoulder-length white platinum hair was swept back from his face somewhat messily as if by a restless hand, and several wispy strands fell forward into his narrowed eyes as a result. One of which was a pale gray, the other a startling shade of lavender—an unnerving gaze to hold for long. The young sylph's angular face was pulled into a somewhat flippant, sneering grin under their perusal. Uncaring and apparently unafraid of the fact that he seemed to be completely alone in the room and vastly outnumbered.

Then again, Ravus Nox Fleuret of Tenebrae was easily the strongest, most skilled fighter his people had to offer; he had no real need of anyone else's protection but his own.

“How _kind_ of you to invite me, your Majesty,” Ravus continued with a false air courtesy as he seated himself with a flourish. Adjusting the deadly sword strapped to one hip to allow the position and then not removing his hand from the hilt afterward. Something that was not missed on anyone else in the room. Once again, tensions rose to uncomfortable levels. The sylph slid a glare to the werewolf at his side then, lip curling in a sneer. “A shame you also let the mongrels inside.”

Nyx let out a loud growl at the slur while the Alpha merely scowled. “Careful, boy,” he murmured, his tone deceptively soft and neutral, “or I might be inclined to make your new nickname the _Wingless Wonder_ instead of just One-Winged King.”

The smirk wiped clean from the sylph's face at the mention of that hated monicker, which very few had the nerve or suicidal tendencies to ever utter in his hearing. In the next instant his blade was drawn and the tip of the weapon angled beneath the older werewolf's chin, faster than any of them could follow. To his credit Clarus didn't even flinch, and merely held up a hand to halt Nyx before the younger wolf could do more than take a threatening step forward.

“Call me that again,” the younger man dared in a faintly shaking snarl through clenched teeth. “I'll cut the tongue from your mouth and feed it to your little dog behind you!”

“Enough!” Regis snapped then, scowling. “We have neither the time nor the luxury for this ridiculous posturing.” His stern gaze leveled on the other two, who turned to him at least and stopped focusing on each other. For the moment. “We can ill-afford to keep fighting and bickering amongst ourselves. Not while the far greater threat of the Empire looms over our heads.”

At the mention of that hated regime, both Ravus and Clarus scowled heavily. A second later and the sylph's deadly sword was re-sheathed and the Alpha had completely turned away, dismissing the younger man. Regis sighed. If they could agree on nothing else, they could at least agree on this; they hated the Niffs far more than they disliked and mistrusted each other.

Niflheim was a vast country ruled by a faction of xenophobic humans, who touted advanced technological wonders and an unreasoning, boundless fear and hatred of the other Fey races of Eos. They seemed determined to kill and exterminate them all for no other reason than being different and therefore deemed dangerous. Each of their individual races had suffered atrocities at the Empire's bloody hands, in one way or another.

The very land that Niflheim now laid claim to had once belonged to the vast clans of werewolves as well as the now-extinct Dragon-Blooded. The latter had been completely eradicated almost two centuries ago, to the last man, woman and child. A heart-breaking and unspeakable tragedy, as the ever peaceful dragons had been considered some of the wisest and strongest of all the Fey. Never suspecting treachery, the too-trusting Dragon Blooded had been ill prepared for the unprovoked attack. They had been helpless to stem the cruel tide of the Empire as it rolled right over the top of them, crushing everything and leaving only misery in its wake.

Meanwhile the werewolves managed to put up a valiant fight—forewarned and far more battle-ready than their neighbors. In the end it still hadn't been enough however. They'd eventually been forced to flee their ancestral lands with their lives and very little else. Forever fractured and splintered into smaller packs, forced to wander the lands of Eos in an endlessly nomadic life with no real home to call their own. Where every day was a desperate struggle for their very survival, becoming so wary and distrustful of others that they even gave their own kind a wide berth. Separate packs very rarely interacted with each other, preferring instead to go their own way. Their numbers were dwindling dangerously as a result. Out of all that were left, the Amicitia pack was the largest and the strongest—and the most likely to be amenable to his plans. Hence why Regis had reached out to them.

Tenebrae, the lush mountainous region of the sylphs, was the next to feel the Empire's wrath. While a much smaller country than Niflheim or Lucis, they were rich in resources and wealth and because of that they'd managed to hold their own thus far against all odds, if only barely. It was not a war without loss and casualty however. Ravus had been forced to assume the throne at barely sixteen years of age after his parents—Queen Sylva and her Prince-Consort Caeruleus—had been slain in battle. The then prince had also been captured in that same attack while trying to protect his younger sister. Despite his youth and relative inexperience, the prince had somehow managed to escape custody and managed to spirit Lunafreya away to safety afterward. Despite being tortured and horribly disfigured in the process. Ravus had not manifested his wings in view of anyone since that dark day but the cruelly whispered nickname had followed him ever since, telling all the reason why. What might have shattered a lesser man had instead forged the young sylph into tempered steel, however. Ravus had devoted his every thought and waking moment to causing as much damage as he could to Niflheim. Becoming a very shrewd tactician and a relentless warrior that few had the skill to match. Ravus would sacrifice just about anything in order to get his revenge. Regis was counting on it now.

Having been somewhat stone-walled by Tenebrae, the Empire eventually turned its attention to Lucis, lands of the vampire. As large and as heavily fortified as Niflheim was itself—perhaps more-so in some ways—Lucis managed to stem the tide of the Empire and even beat it back. Countless years had passed since then, innumerable lives lost in the bloody stalemate that the two superpowers had been locked into. Yet now the shaky balance that had held for so long was being endangered by an all new and unexpected development. The Empire had recently given rise to a new 'adviser' to Emperor Aldercapt. A dangerous man known only as Ardyn Izunia, though his spies could find very little concrete information on the name or the man before his abrupt and mysterious appearance fifteen years ago. He, along with the help of their lead scientist Verstael Besithia, was somehow creating and mass-producing bestial fodder for their armies, twisted abominations that they called daemons. Powerful, evil and exceptionally difficult to kill, this new addition threatened to utterly decimate the others' defenses.

They _had_ to put aside their petty differences, and soon. The time had come for the Fey of Eos to stand as one against their common enemy, or else all fall together before the might of the Empire. A task easier said than done though, as there was perhaps just as much blood spilled between their three races in past millennia as there was against the Empire. Some prejudices would be very slow to disappear, if ever.

“We three must come to some sort of agreement tonight,” Regis urged now. “We simply cannot afford to do otherwise.”

“Three?” Ravus suddenly questioned, eyebrow lifting. “Was Accordo not invited to these talks?” The vampire's lips thinned with displeasure.

“They were, and while First Secretary Claustra is 'sympathetic' to our plight, the country of Accordo is unable to lend any assistance at this time,” he paraphrased the message he'd received in a bland sneer. “Her government will not risk their neutral status in what they consider to be a Fey conflict.”

Clarus bit out a foul curse. “Typical. Cowardly humans will always stick together.”

Regis knew there was more to the decision than that, things were never quite so simple, but saw little reason to bother arguing the moot point. The only other human Kingdom of Accordo was much more benevolent toward the Fey races—or perhaps the term indifferent was more appropriate. They might not wish outright harm to the Fey like Niflheim, but they weren't willing to risk war and hardship on their behalf either.

“So what is it you're proposing to us exactly, King Regis?” The vampire king met the young sylph's stare without flinching.

“A full alliance between our three peoples, a _lasting_ alliance that cannot be broken by petty squabbling and futile prejudice. We can settle for nothing less.”

“Just how do you suggest we go about doing that?” Clarus drawled, immediately skeptical. Regis straightened, suddenly looking for all the world as if he were seated on the massive black marble and golden throne in the center of the Citadel instead of a dusty chunk of concrete.

“The Amicitia werewolves will become citizens of Lucis,” he pronounced without preamble. Nyx blinked like an owl, while Clarus frowned.

“We'll not bend knee to a vampire king,” the Alpha growled, a throb of subtle threat in his deep voice, but Regis quickly shook his head.

“No-no, of course not. I'm not suggesting that you swear undying fealty to _me_ , merely to the protection and continuation of both our species. You will continue to lead your people as is your right, as will your son after you. Your warriors would be integrated into the Lucian military, in their own squadrons under your direct command. You would hold similar rank in the army as Cor here does. You and your people would be required to follow our laws and respect our customs. In return I offer you a permanent place to call your own. A _home_ , my friend.”

Regis watched several emotions chase themselves across the two wolves' faces, and silently wondered if they were even aware of it. Wary mistrust, a healthy dose of suspicion and then the beginnings of a bald, desperate hope.

“How touching for them,” Ravus interceded dryly, effectively ruining the moment and then ignoring the mild glares shot his way. His almost gaunt face was impossible to read, but his dual-colored eyes were sharp. “Makes one wonder just what exactly you plan on asking of Tenebrae.”

Regis took a deep, fortifying breath in preparation and then, “I ask Tenebrae for her Princess; Lady Lunafreya to be joined in marriage to my son, Prince Noctis.”

Ravus had about the reaction to that announcement that the older vampire had expected he would. The sylph royal was on his feet in a dizzying blur of motion, formerly impassive face now fixed into a furious snarl.

“Like hell,” he hissed. “That illness of yours has completely addled your wits, Regis! If you think for one moment I'd even _consider_ trading my sister away to you lot of blood-drinkers like a damned piece of meat, you're more far gone than I thought.” Regis frowned, swallowing the immediate protest that tried to escape his throat at the insult, though with some difficulty. He felt Cor tense again behind him but luckily the Marshal managed to curb his own reactions as well.

“I am offering her marriage to my heir,” he bit out, tone clipped with the offense he couldn't quite stifle. “A full commitment. Lady Lunafreya would not be a mere consort but one day the Queen of all Lucis. I am _not_ suggesting to turn her into a _food source,_ Ravus.”

“Yeah, they don't have to feed off actual people anymore,” Nyx suddenly spoke for the first time, his deep tenor a sudden splash of sarcastic humor in the otherwise tensely silent room. “They've got these handy little mass-produced things instead, like little blood juice boxes. It's the damndest thing, really.”

There then followed a long moment of silence, where-in Ravus scowled, Regis lifted an eyebrow and Clarus just cut the younger wolf a look over his shoulder that immediately lapsed him back into obedient silence. Regis was actually a little grateful for the interruption though, as the sylph had shifted from full on indignant rage to grudging annoyance. The vampire pressed his advantage.

“She would come to no harm,” he murmured softly, reassuringly, “would in fact be well-cared for under my protection, Ravus, as if she were my own. I can promise you that.”

 _“You_ are not the one it's being suggested she marry,” he pointed out in a sneer. “Or are you so certain that the 'Prince of Eternal Night' will be so receptive to the idea of marrying a sylph with nary a whisper of complaint? What if he decides to take his frustrations out on her?” Regis sighed.

“Noctis is a good boy,” he insisted. His son might be a man of a full twenty-two years, but he'd always be a 'boy' in his father's eyes. “He will honor her and their vows, I am certain. No matter how he might feel otherwise, Noctis would never mistreat a woman, of any species. It would be a good match,” the vampire continued to press, and then after a slight pause, he went for the killing blow. “Lunafreya would be far safer within the city walls of Insomnia than she is at Fenestala Manor.”

That caused the younger sylph to wince, then scowl heavily at the implications that he couldn't properly protect his sister. Unfortunately he couldn't really argue them either. In recent years the Empire's armies had pushed closer and closer to their boarders. The situation in Tenebrae was growing more dangerous and uncertain every day as a result. Ravus glared off to the side for a moment, then met Regis' gaze again sharply. “I assume you plan to offer some sort of recompense for my sister's hand?”

Heartened that Ravus was at least considering the possibility, Regis eagerly continued. “What soldiers can be spared from the protection of Lucis would be dispatched to Tenebrae, to help shore up your defenses. Your people have the heart and the tenacity, Ravus, but not the numbers to continue holding the line against Niflheim alone. Not combined with this new daemon threat. With the vampire and the Amicitia werewolves backing you, though, it might just be enough.”

“And in order to agree to all of this, you think my sister needs to be married off to your son?” Regis countered the sylph's dubious question with a heavy sigh.

“Tensions are too high, the potential for accidental insult too great, to commit to this without some sort of permanent bond holding our two people together.”

Ravus continued to brood for a moment longer before he crossed his arms with a jerk. “This all seems quite a bit unbalanced, in my opinion. You demand the life and allegiance of the only living family I have left in exchange for a few extra soldiers. To fight in a war for their _own_ benefit as much as any of mine. Meanwhile _these_ ,” he indicated the two werewolves beside him with a rude jerk of his thumb, “get free room and board, all for the simple price of hunting down and killing more Niffs. Which is what the damned wolves would be doing anyhow, regardless.”

Nyx actually nodded to that with a slight shrug and twist of his lips, muttering, “he's not wrong about the Niffs,” under his breath.

Regis floundered a moment, searching for some form of appeasement, but surprisingly Clarus beat him to it. “He's not wrong about the other, either,” the elder werewolf pronounced. The Amicitia Alpha gazed for a moment at Ravus, then shifted his pale eyes to Regis. “To prove the pledge of the Amicitia, I here-by swear the fealty of the First of my Line to Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum.” Clarus ignored Regis' and Ravus' startled looks as well as Nyx letting out a strangled gasp of stunned disbelief behind him. He merely continued speaking the ancient vows with resolute finality. “Until such time as death claims him or he is released from that vow, the First Son of the Blood will fight and die to preserve the life of his charge. Above All, Amicitia Protects.”

“Sir!” Nyx bit out finally, voice strained. “You _can't—,”_ Just one look was enough to halt that particularly dangerous thought from finding voice. The younger werewolf wisely bit back into silence with an audible snap of his teeth. He was far from mollified however, staring at the back of his Alpha in mute shock instead.

Regis well knew the reason for Nyx's unease. To the ever-dwindling race of werewolves, their bloodlines and the continuation of their species meant _everything_. Infinitely more precious than money or power was the protection of their family. For Clarus to willingly give away his only son into servitude was a monumental show of commitment as well as respect. To say that this newest development was unexpected was a vast understatement, though certainly not an unwelcome one. The vampire watched the Alpha turn slightly toward a still floored Ravus then, his thick eyebrow quirking.

“Ball's in your court now, boy.” Ravus' expression immediately turned petulant at that, realizing he'd been shown up by the other man. If he disagreed to the alliance now, it would be as if admitting the werewolves had more strength and resolve than his own people. Regis had to hide a chuckle behind a well-timed clearing of his throat.

“Ah, are those terms acceptable to you Lord Ravus?” he questioned instead, in as innocent a tone as he could manage. The sylph King let out a huff.

“I don't see as I have much of a choice in the matter,” was all he would allow, in no way gracious about being so out-maneuvered.

Regis immediately sat forward and reached for the binding contracts he'd had prearranged, eager to get them signed and sealed before either of the two volatile men had a chance to change their minds. “Let us hash out the finer details then, shall we?”


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Chapter 1 is the prologue, and Chapter 2 is Chapter 1. This won't get confusing at all!

“You're shitting me.”

Gladiolus Amicitia just stared hard at his father, for the moment unable to come to grips with how his whole world had just become completely unrecognizable in the span of only a few insignificant minutes. The two werewolves currently faced off in the remnants of an abandoned wooden shack in the woods on the outskirts of Lucis, where Clarus had set up a make-shift office of sorts. The pack had set up temporary camp for the night all around them, just beginning to set fires and start making whatever could be found for supper.

Everything in their lives was temporary, fluid and frequently subject to change. Or, at least it _had_ been. Now he wasn't so sure.

Because _now_ the 200-strong wolf pack had just been made brand-new citizens of the Kingdom of Lucis. _Now_ they were being given their very own territory to start carving out a more permanent home in the Duscae region. _Now_ his father was apparently some sort of Commander in their military; their warriors were being placed into their own specialized guerrilla-style squadrons under his direct command. And all it had cost them in return was Gladio's freedom.

At his outburst, the Alpha merely shot him a look and Gladio bit back a huff. No, of course his father wasn't kidding. In all his twenty-five years of life, the First Son could count on one hand the amount of times he'd seen his taciturn father smile. He didn't think he'd ever seen the Alpha actually laugh, let alone crack a joke. Hell, he wasn't even entirely sure his father knew what a sense of humor was.

“You can't do this to me,” the younger finally bit out, voice rough with emotion. Somehow his father's expression grew even more wry.

“It's becoming a damned nuisance, how many of you are starting to think you can dictate to your Alpha what he can and can't do.”

“I'm the First of the Blood, dammit—,” the larger wolf snapped, but all the size and bluster didn't matter when the Alpha suddenly slammed his fist into the desk in front of him. The rusted out metal piece of furniture shuddered and groaned dangerously with the force of the blow, the radio and scattered papers on its surface jumping at the impact. Gladio was helpless to fight his immediate instinctual reaction to the Alpha's displeasure, father or no. Which was to take a hasty step back with his eyes immediately dropping down in deference.

“Exactly,” Clarus countered after a moment or two, his deep voice still mild despite his thinning patience. The Amicitia Alpha very rarely raised his voice. If and when he did, someone was usually about to die. “You are the First Son, _my_ son. As such, it is your duty to follow _my_ lead.”

“I belong with the pack,” Gladio growled softly. “Not playing babysitter to some snot-nosed, Fang prince-ling.”

“You belong where you're needed most, Gladiolus. And while I still wear this shield, 'where you're needed most' means wherever the hell I _s_ ay it is.” His father indicated the thick black onyx rope of a chain that currently hung around his neck with an offhand gesture. The clasp of which rested against his breastbone, in the shape of a stylized shield that was half the size of a man's curled fist. It was the chain of office of an Alpha, and the shield was the symbol of their particular pack. Above All, Amicitia Protects.

“You've sold me into servitude,” Gladio returned somewhat dazedly, “and it's like you don't even give a damn.” Clarus hesitated at that, then heaved a loud sigh and bent until his gaze met with his son's lowered one. He braced his weight on his two curled fists currently flattened on the desk's surface.

“Our people are _dying,_ son,” he bit out baldly. “One or two more generations of this nomadic bullshit, being slowly picked off one by one by Niffs, daemons and the Six knows what else—the werewolves will be just as much of a memory as the dragons. Yes, it's the only life you and I—my father and his father—have ever known,” he agreed before Gladio could do more than open his mouth to indignantly retort, “but it's _not_ how we're meant to live. I was given a chance to change it, and I'll be damned if I don't see it through. You think you're the only one who's convinced I'm crazy for trying? Titus just about chewed my ear off last night and argued himself blue in the face trying to change my mind.”

 _Knowing Drautos'_ _particularly low_ _opinion o_ _f_ _vamps_ _, that's probably one hell of an understatement_ , Gladio thought with a snort.

“We've got a hell of an uphill battle before us, and that's just among our own kind. Care to take a guess just how pleased most of the Lucians will be at the thought of giving up some of their precious lands and resources to 'a pack of wild dogs?'” Clarus continued to press. “Less than piss-poor, is my estimate. I'm sure those scheming politicians in the Citadel will stop at nothing to try and renege on King Regis' promises just as soon as they can work out how. Or maybe they'll just knife the poor bastard in the back at the first opportunity in order to see it done, who knows. And then it won't be long at all before his son ends up following him into a shallow grave.” Clarus straightened then, ice-colored eyes sharp and resolute as they met his son's uncertain amber ones. “So yes, Gladiolus. You'll go to the Crown City. You'll honor my vows to the Lucis Caelum line, swear service to the young Fang prince-ling. And then you'll guard his back and make _damn_ sure nothing happens to him or our people's interests moving forward.”

Well, shit. What could he say to that? Gladio let out a snort under his breath as he conceded to, _not much._ Just knowing that his father wasn't callously abandoning him with no thought or care went a long way to lessening the blow, though.

They'd never been close, father and son. Certainly no where near as close as Gladio was to his baby sister Iris. So the Alpha's moods and motivations weren't always so easy for him to discern. His father had never given him anything close to what one might term 'love' and 'affection.' Instead he'd been given endless hours of combat training, molded into a deadly efficient fighter that had few equals, among any race. Along with battle strategy, he'd also been shown how to manage the lives and survival of men, women and children constantly on the move and under endless threats. The elder Amicitia had ingrained in his heir an unshakable sense of honor and loyalty, of duty to both his pack and his immediate family. By his father's example Gladio was ready, willing and fully capable of sacrificing life and limb at a moment's notice if it meant the survival of the pack as a whole.

The faces of the pack's children suddenly flashed in Gladio's minds eye—entirely too serious little faces, always wary and on edge with the danger that lurked around every corner. Then the faces of their elderly—their backs bent with weariness and time, forced to trudge endlessly through the wilderness and rarely knowing a moment's peace. Guilt burned a bitter path down his throat then, and he winced. If it meant their pups could learn to laugh and play without fear, if their elders could finally have the tranquility they deserved in their hard-earned twilight years, if it meant they could have a real _home_ . . . well. Was any price too great to ask, then?

While mollified, Gladio was still far from gracious. It was all he could do to mutter, “yes, sir.” It satisfied his father though, who simply nodded and then turned back to the reports their scouts had presented him with moments earlier. “What about the others?” he couldn't help but ask. Clarus shuffled through a few notes before answering.

“The Niffs have been causing a lot of trouble along the boarders of Tenebrae lately. So Titus and I will be taking most of the men down south for a month or two, to harry their supply lines and give the Fairies some breathing room.” He pulled out a well-worn map of Lucis from the bottom of the pile, slid it closer and then indicated a swath of dense woodlands with the tap of one finger. “Meanwhile Iris will lead what's left of the pack to our new homestead where they can start setting up a more permanent encampment. Jared will be in charge while Titus and I are away, but your sister will join you in Insomnia to help look after things.”

Gladio frowned. “You're really gonna send Iris off on her own?” he immediately protested, but Clarus just snorted.

“She's eighteen years old, Gladio,” he drawled, “and trained to fight by the both of us combined. Iris can more than handle herself. Besides, she won't be alone. I'm sending Crowe with her.” Despite knowing full well that Crowe Altius was no slouch on the battlefield, he'd still have been happier with Nyx going along. Or better yet, he himself. Gladio knew there was no point in arguing the decision though, so didn't bother. “You'll take one of the motorcycles and leave in the morning,” the Alpha continued briskly.“Should reach Insomnia inside three or four days. They'll be expecting you at the Citadel, so after you're inside the city just present yourself. They'll tell you what to do next.”

Gladio gulped. _So soon?_

The Alpha turned back to his reports then, scratching at his stubble-shadowed jaw. “Send Drautos in, will you?” he murmured absently and Gladio just rolled his eyes. After a lifetime of them, he knew one of his father's dismissals when he heard it.

“Yeah,” he heaved, turning on his heel. He stepped through the doorway—the actual door had long since rotted off—and out into the crisp evening air beyond. The sun was just beginning to set below the horizon, streaking the evening sky in shades of brilliant pink and heavy purples. Hundreds of tents and individual campfires spread out around him, the occasional RV and beat-up vehicle breaking the pattern. Sounds of conversation and laughter floated to his ears, interspersed with the occasional canine bark or yip. The heavy smells of woodsmoke, cooking meat, sweating bodies and the faint hint of rain off in the distance all swirled in his sensitive nose. Gladio sifted through the individual scents with a skill born of years of practice, quickly singling out the one he was after and then following it unerringly.

He found Titus Drautos, his father's Beta, at a campfire surrounded by a handful of others. They were all currently tearing off portions of one of the small herd of garulas they'd managed to hunt earlier that day, which had apparently just finished cooking on its spit. Nyx, Crowe, Libertus, Luche and Iris all turned solemn gazes on him as he neared and Gladio shook his head a little. It seemed either Nyx or Titus had already let the cat out of the proverbial bag.

“Hey Gladdy,” his sister called, trying her best for a cheerful tone but not quite managing it. Her big brown eyes stared up at him, glistening with emotion and the haze of the near-by fire, and Gladio felt his heart clench. He didn't care how old she got or how strong she was. In his mind, when he looked at her he would always see the tiny toddler who used to ride on his shoulders with shrieks of carefree laughter ringing in his ears. Iris held up a plate to him now with a massive chunk of what had probably been a leg balanced across it. “You hungry?”

A trick question, that. Werewolves were _always_ hungry. Part and parcel to their enhanced strength and endurance, their bodies were constantly craving a replacement for the massive amount of calories that they burned. Gladio nodded and took the proffered meal from his sister, but turned his attention to the Beta.

“Dad wants to see you,” he announced. Titus just nodded to that, no doubt expecting it. He set his nearly finished meal aside and stood up from where he'd been sitting in a canvas fold-out chair. He started to move past, but stopped at the last minute and then reached up to suddenly clap Gladio on the shoulder in a comforting grip.

“You keep your wits about you in that viper den,” the older man admonished softly. Gladio sighed, nodding, though he could only hold the other wolf's gaze for a moment or two before his own was falling away.

“Yeah,” he agreed heavily, trying to swallow the lump in his throat and only marginally successful. Titus gripped his shoulder once more, then finally moved away completely.

Gladio came and sat in the place that Drautos had vacated. A moment later and Libertus was handing him a beer from the cooler that the heavier man was currently using as a bench. “So,” he murmured. “Insomnia, huh? Damn.”

“I still can't fuckin' believe it,” Nyx followed, shaking his head before taking a huge bite of his own hunk of meat. “And I was there when it happened,” he continued around the mouthful, shameless. Not that any of them really gave a damn. There was little time for manners and social niceties out here in the wilds.

“It could be worse,” Luche suddenly murmured. “Could be like us, gettin' ready to ship out to Tenebrae. To fight and possibly die for a bunch of Fangs and Fairies. Instead you get to go put your feet up and relax in that big old palace, warm and dry. Rubbing elbows with Kings and Princes.” His tone was mostly light-humored, but there was a faint touch of bitterness that made Gladio scowl.

“Trust me, Luche,” he snapped, “I'd trade places in a heart beat.”

“What're you even gonna _do_ there exactly?” Crowe suddenly demanded, craftily moving the conversation along and diffusing a situation before it even got started. She took a swig from her own bottle before sitting back, eying him for an answer. Her leather-clad legs were folded beneath the she-wolf in what should have been an impossible position, Gladio honestly had no idea how that could be considered in any way comfortable.

“Hell if I know,” he finally replied. “I was sworn as a guardian to the prince so . . . I'll guard him, I guess?”

Libertus barked out a laugh at that and some of the others chuckled as well. “Guard him from _what?_ The Citadel is damn near a fortress on its own, surrounded on all sides by a huge city filled with Fangs and Humans. All of which are protected by a massive wall and the Night Shield. Niffs have never come anywhere near that far into Lucian territory before. What danger could the prince possibly get into that would require the First Son to save him?”

Gladio certainly didn't have a clue himself. And now thanks to that pointed barrage, he was starting to develop the uncomfortable suspicion that he was going to be absolutely bored out of his skull in his new position. To go along with lonely and homesick.

“The Alpha commanded it,” he finally bit out, well past finished with this conversation, “so that's that.”

And so it was. The others grew silent for a short while, then turned to other topics. Gladio just let the conversation and laughter flow around him silently, setting into his food instead and staring moodily into the flames.

  

* * *

 

 

Lady Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Princess of Tenebrae, watched the rain fall on the other side of the clear high-vaulted windows with faintly dazed eyes. How odd that the weather should so accurately mirror the storm that was currently churning in her own mind and heart. The young sylph absently—whimsically—wondered if she perhaps possessed some sort of control over the weather as well as a tendency toward the occasional prophetic dream. That her inner-most emotions could somehow speak to the spirits of the earth and sky and influence them somehow? Then she scoffed a little to herself, rolling her eyes with a silent admonishment for entertaining such a foolish notion, even briefly. Nonsensical though they were, her silly fancies helped distract her from the worry now uppermost in her mind and Luna was grateful for any reprieve, however small.

Lunafreya hadn't ever entertained the notion that she would marry for love. She was a Princess, after all. Her union was always going to have been about some sort of gain; for her brother, for her people or her country—preferably all three if they were lucky. Yet Luna had always been certain that she would one day wed another sylph noble, as her mother had before her. Someone to bolster House Nox Fleuret with wealth or political advantage. Never in all her wildest imaginings had she ever suspected . . . this.

Ravus had just returned to the estate that morning, as suddenly as he'd left it. At first overjoyed to see him hale and whole, his shadowed expression had soon put an end to her good spirits. He'd escorted her here into what had once been their mother's favorite sitting room, sat her down and then haltingly explained the details of the bargain he'd made. To save their country and their people, he'd promised her to the Prince of Eternal Night.

_Noctis Lucis Caelum._

Lunafreya shivered a little, now, absently running her hands up and down her bare arms to try and chafe some warmth back into her strangely numbed limbs. The sylph princess bit a little at her lower lip in uncertainty. His name sounded as cold and heartless as the man himself was rumored to be. The crown prince of Lucis was elusive, wanting very little to do with public speaking or appearances. The few times he was absolutely required to do so, his manner was always curt and abrupt. Cool and aloof, it didn't seem as though he really cared all that much about anything.

Lunafreya herself had only met him in person once. It had been many years ago, before her parents had died. The King and Queen of Lucis had come to Tenebrae on a rare diplomatic visit, bringing their young son along for the adventure. Luna had been eight years old at the time, Noctis might have been about six. From what little she remembered of their brief encounter, she'd given him a shy greeting and the only-slightly-wobbly curtsy she'd been practicing for the past three days. Afterward the young vampire prince had eyed her up and down rather dubiously, then turned back to his mother and asked rudely if he could go fishing now. That had been the extent of their interaction. The child could be forgiven such a slight, of course, but not the man. It seemed as though his demeanor had not changed much in the sixteen years that had followed.

And now she was supposed to become his _wife?_ May the Six preserve her.

An uncomfortable shift in the air behind her suddenly drew the princess out of the darkest depths of her inner thoughts and back into the present, reminding her she wasn't alone in the room.

“Luna,” Ravus murmured, voice aching. “If . . . if there was any other way I could have made this arrangement . . . .”

Lunafreya immediately shook her head, putting an end to her elder brother's halting speech. When she turned back from the window, her pale face was a carefully wrought mask of softly smiling serenity. If Ravus had simply pronounced her engagement with no thought or care, she might have been able to work up a bit of anger and indignation. As it was, the poor man looked so guilty and upset he seemed on the verge of becoming physically ill. It immediately pricked her conscience.

Her brother had already sacrificed far too much of himself on her behalf. She'd not add this to the list of his burdens.

“Nonsense, Ravus,” she insisted softly and if the lightness of her tone was a bit forced, neither of them commented on it. “Certainly if you can go hieing off to mortal danger at every turn fighting who-knows-what horrors for the betterment of our nation, then surely I can manage to get married for no less. We both know I would have entered into an arranged match eventually, after all. The only difference is I shall be marrying a vampire prince instead of a sylph noble.” As if that were only the tiniest, most insignificant change rather than life-altering. “I am certain I will be fine,” she finally assured, perhaps for the both of them.

Ravus stared at her for a long, telling moment, expression pained. “Luna,” he seemed to heave from the soles of his feet. There was a wealth of meaning in that single word, but she wouldn't allow herself to be swayed by it. It would do them no good, after all. Her fate, for better or worse, had already been decided.

Instead Lunafreya turned away again until she stood in profile to him, absently glancing back toward the rain-misted window at her side. “When shall I be expected in Lucis?” She saw Ravus lower his head out of the corner of her eye, staring at the floor between the toes of his boots as if in defeat. His platinum hair slid forward in an unruly tangle, hiding his dual-colored eyes.

“Two weeks hence.” Luna just nodded.

“Very well then, that should give me adequate time to pack and to prepare the manor for my absence. Do send for Maria, would you? I shall begin planning for the alterations with her at once.”

Ravus slowly raised his head at that and stared at her for another few minutes of aching silence, then, “I will do my best to visit you as often as I am able,” he promised softly. Luna still didn't face him directly, not wanting Ravus to see the sudden moisture that had gathered in her eyes.

“I should like that very much,” she somehow managed, in a voice that didn't tremble _too_ terribly with emotion.

Ravus finally stood and left the room at that, allowing Luna to slump a little and release a shuddering breath. She reached up quickly to swipe the water from her eyes, not wanting Maria to see her upset either. The servant was like to already be an absolute wreck at the news of her immanent departure. She didn't need to guess at Luna's own uncertainties and be whipped into an even greater emotional frenzy because of it. As trying as Maria's upsets could be at times though, her companionship in her new home would have been a welcome boon. The older woman would be too needed here in Fenestala Manor, however. Maria was the only one who knew the estate and its staff as well as Luna did herself—she would have to be the one to take over her role as chatelaine once the princess was gone.

In fact there were so few servants still on staff here at the manor—most everyone who was able had taken up arms in the defense of their contested boarders—she knew none could be spared to accompany her to Insomnia. Once her brother delivered her to her destination, Lunafreya would likely be all alone. A stranger in a strange land, a single sylph princess in a sea of vampires. One arm suddenly hugged her torso while she waited, the other hand lifting to lightly curl around the front of her neck. An unconsciously protective gesture.

 _Will he bite me? s_ he suddenly wondered to herself, half afraid of the possibility and half morbidly curious. She knew that vampires didn't _need_ to feed from live prey in these modern times. Rather the blood they consumed daily was supposedly first donated intravenously by the multitudes of humans who owed their homes and loyalty to the kingdom of Lucis. Those donations were then cloned into mass quantities and distributed amongst the vampire populace. Still, just because they didn't have to, didn't mean they never did. Did it?

Luna stared sightlessly at the crystal-topped towers beyond, now dulled and hazy from the rain still pouring down. Despite her every intention otherwise, the princess's many worries and fears started running wild and rampant once more.

The uncertainty of her intended husband was bad enough, but what of her new home itself? Lunafreya had never been overly fond of the dark, and now she was going to have to spend the rest of her life in nothing else. Insomnia was surrounded by the Night Shield—a not-quite-physical barrier that blocked out all but the faintest sunlight in deference to their mostly vampiric population. This so that the UV-sensitive creatures could move about without fear of injury or death. It meant that the daylight hours would be as overcast and dreary as it currently was in this cloud-choked rainstorm. And the nights? Surely they would be pitch blackness. Sylphs were creatures of light and air, of the earth and sky. How was she ever supposed to survive in such a suffocating environment?

A soft, canine whine suddenly pulled Luna out of her melancholy worries. The princess turned to look down and smiled when she saw the two creatures who had suddenly appeared at her feet. They were pair of woodland spirits who chose to take the form of Akita-like dogs. One was white with pale gray markings around her blue eyes—a female—the other black with cream colored markings on his face and down his chest and belly with bright amber eyes—the male. She'd named them both Pryna and Umbra, respectively. If they had other names than those, the pair had never made it known. Rather they seemed perfectly happy to respond to the monikers she'd bestowed them.

The spirits had first come to her when she was just twelve years old, right after her parents had been killed. The young princess had been swamped with pain and grief at their loss, along with terrible guilt at the torture and injury Ravus had endured on her behalf. Sick with the ugliness that had become her reality, Lunafreya had been certain that she'd never be able to feel happiness ever again. And then suddenly, there they had been. Two adorably fluffy, chubby little puppies rolling and frolicking in the grass beside her. Forcing the girl out of her dark mood with their antics, making her smile and proving that there was still light and life to be found in the world beyond her loss.

Their true natures had soon been revealed at the spirits' ability to come and go as they pleased; here one moment and then gone to the aether in the very next. Wherever they might go, Umbra and Pryna always came when she needed them—even if she herself didn't know they were needed at the time. Like now.

The sylph princess smiled, kneeling down to them and giving the dogs each a pet and a soothing scratch behind their pointed ears. Then laughed when Umbra leaned forward and nuzzled his cold, wet nose beneath her chin. “Yes, I know,” she murmured then. “Even when the future seems bleakest, there is always hope.” She tilted her head slightly then, still smiling and now the expression wasn't nearly so forced. “I hope you will both somehow manage to visit me in my new home as well, from time to time.”

Pryna just let out a sharp, happy bark—as if in affirmative. Luna felt the tension she didn't even know she'd been holding immediately ease at that.

“That is a relief. I shan't be completely alone after all.” The sound of wet sniffling suddenly hit her ears, somewhere down the hallway beyond and growing closer by the moment. Lunafreya sighed, wincing a bit as she stood once more. “That will be Maria,” she needlessly announced. The princess took a moment to straighten her shoulders and shore up her own resolve, then gave the dogs a raised brow. “Shall we go pack? I will make certain the cook sets you each aside a few choice bits of cockatrice if you stay and keep me company.” Umbra and Pryna both let out several excited barks, prancing in tight circles and causing her to laugh. It seemed she had her answer. “Excellent, then let us be off.”

Lunafreya lead the way out of the sitting room then, in order to meet Maria in the hall. Umbra and Pryna were tight on her heels.


End file.
